


The Wolf and the Hound

by koboldpraxis



Series: A New World of Balance [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Age Difference, Alien/Human Relationships, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Medical Torture, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Power Imbalance, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25102363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koboldpraxis/pseuds/koboldpraxis
Summary: This work is set in the distant future after the end of the Final Fantasy VI.  Peace between humankind and genju (espers) is now the norm, due to an ancient pact first suggested by Maduin after the second war of the Magi.  Under this pact, some humans are born "espertouched" - that is - bonded for life to a specific esper.  These individuals grow up with the gift of magic, and are deeply connected to the esper world.  The often end up as leaders in human society.   In exchange for these gifts, they are expected to maintain the bridge of peace between worlds.But no peace is perfect, or without end.  Could the world be heading towards yet another senseless war?
Relationships: Madeline | Madonna/Maduin (Final Fantasy VI), Maduin/Yura, OC/OC
Series: A New World of Balance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818046





	1. It's Not Even Past

**Author's Note:**

> Other archive warnings will probably apply in the future. 
> 
> This work is only self-edited. I have no sensitivity readers, and am not perfect at identifying triggers. Read at your own risk, although feel free to message me if you believe there are any warnings or tags I did not include, I take no offense.
> 
> This fiction exists mostly as backdrop/worldbuilding for my heavily modified D&D 5e Final Fantasy homebrew. It is intended to be readable without knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons or of any of the OCs, but I will let you be the judge of that. The game itself does not feature erotica and has a somewhat different plot along the same themes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertrand Olivar, a white mage and material science professor at the prestigious Figaro Opera House, teaches a cosmology class for a friend. He learns something surprising from a new student, something that will compel him to make a journey to a place he has visited once before.

Bertrand Olivar, a balding, middle aged man cloaked in the full regalia of professorship, paced in a practiced circle around the center stage. "Good day class! Welcome to your first semester at the prestigious Figaro Opera House. I am afraid that I am not the handsome and young professor Rossi, as you can clearly see." As he spoke he looked up occasionally and briefly at the fresh-eyed group of military recruits and red mages in training assembled around him in the lecture theater. "Your assigned professor is in excellent health, but has had to leave for several weeks for a sabbatical, and I am sorry to report to you that I shall be instructing you in the fundamentals of cosmology in his stead until his return." 

He paused for just a moment when he spotted a well-appointed young woman in the back of the class yawning conspicuously. Ah, of course, the fledgling military elites were already bored. This was a required course for officers, and half of them couldn't pass without a bribe - one that neither he nor professor Rossi would accept. Conversely, the blooming scholars and red mages in the class probably knew the first three months of lecture already, and would be resentful of all the time spent repeating - and re-repeating - the basics to that gaggle of gilded chocobo ornaments. Well, it was unavoidable.

"My name, by the way, is Bertrand Olivar. I am a tenured materials science professor here, but you may refer to me as you please, with or without any formal appellation. In return I expect your leniency when I cannot remember a single one of your names."

His half-joke received the polite laugh that he anticipated. _That should hold their attention for a few more minutes._

Really, though, Bertrand was actually always careful to remember names. In fact Bertrand liked to do most everything carefully. He was a person with good reasons, both personal and academic, to maintain the privileges of his professorship. He was also a man with certain aesthetic proclivities that were best not discussed. Keeping a balance between these realities had been tricky when he was a younger man, but he was no longer a young man.

One of the first lessons Bertrand had learned was that it was important to have a few friends, or at least an acquaintance or two who owed him favors, in every department. And damn if it wasn't always the Philosophy department that was hardest to pin down in this regard. That cadre of erudite but unapproachable introverts never needed to borrow research materials, never needed to travel, and rarely had loved ones that might get sick or married or die.

What then, would he ever do, if not for his dear Luca Rossi? There was no option but to teach this class in his absence.

"So anyway, here we are, you to learn about the fundamentals of the universe and our role within it, and myself as a favor to a dear friend. Although this field is not my specialty, I was considered an expert at it when I was yonger, and if we are smart and efficient we shall all be able keep you all afloat until Professor Rossi returns. I would like not to disappoint him, so I would ask that you all kindly humor me, at least until he returns."

He paused purposefully. "Now some of you may have heard of me before. I am an accomplished white mage, but I have left the Mysidian temple due to certain differences of opinion. Rest assured this will not color your educational experience here."

Seven years ago Luca, still fresh in his red-fringed white robes, had been sent to the Opera house by the Mysidian temple as part of a knowledge exchange program. Bertrand had grown up in the temple but was never suited for it, and left for the more open-minded world of the Opera House after a successful but embattled career as a scholar of holy texts.

Luca's devotion, however, was as sincere as it was well-reasoned. The man had the sharpness, toughness, and flexibility of a mythril saber, yet he possessed also a patient kindness possible only for someone who had long internalized a firm belief in the goodness of both the universe and humanity. The man had a way of living that Bertrand always admired, although he could not hope to match it. They could have come to blows over their differences, but by some small miracle they had became friends instead.

"You all know the basics. In the beginning, there was the Crystal, and the Crystal was Eternal, Boundless, and Perfect. Now what does Eternal mean?"

An eager, mousy looking girl in the front chimed in. "It means that it was beyond or outside of time, unchanging forever"

"Correct, Ms. Leffield, although that was a rhetorical question actually." Another polite chuckle, and a look of surprise from the young lady at being recognized despite her attempts to distance herself from her parents' connections. "I see that you are a sharp bunch so I shall skip the Questioner's Method.

"Of course Boundless refers to the fact that the crystal was without measure - it was the entire universe, as vast as the night sky, or it may have fit in my hand." Using a small bit of white magic, he shaped the ambient light into an image of a shining, rotating, Crystal in front of him, and then held it in high in his palm. "Both things could be true of it, for it was everywhere at once, and all things at once." With a little spin and flourish that revealed his slim but tight figure underneath his professor's gown, he let the crystal vanish.

"Perfect is a bit harder to grasp, and there is still some disagreement about what it means, but that is a lecture for another day. Essentially, there is no truth that is or can be known in the universe that was not contained within the Crystal. Every thing you could experience or learn was inside, and known by the totality of its being. Every truth and beauty imaginable was there. Prettier than any of us, at least!"

For a few moments, Bertrand's thoughts drifted back to Luca even as he continued to speak. The man was blastedly handsome, his face a study in masculine symmetry, balanced delightfully between youth and manhood. His dark brown eyes matched the color of the roguish curled locks that always seemed to be sneaking out from under his hood. His chest overflowed with natural athleticism that had been built upon - just to the right degree! - through a healthy and balanced interest in sport. Most pleasing of all, though, was Luca's knack for finding colognes that complemented his own natural scent, regardless of the season. This lone vanity was charmingly unbecoming of a man of the cloth, and Bertrand took a private delight in it every time the two met.

"But of course, in our world today this all sounds like dogma and not possibility, for our world is neither Eternal, Boundless, or Perfect. We must take it as an article of faith in the Mysidian teachings, and in the wisdom of the Espers, that the crystal ever existed to begin with. But when it shattered, the remnants formed into the three Goddesses.

"Empress, the Eternal Goddess, sought to embody the unchanging principles and create a perfect order. She created the Genju, the beings we know as espers. These entities each represent something Eternal and unchanging in the universe, and their powers are without compare. But there are so few of them, and without the powers of the other two Goddessess they can only act locally, and cannot maintain the perfect forms forever. As you know, an esper must periodically rest by turning into Magicite. They might remain asleep for many of our generations, and can thus never apply true order to the universe.

"Demon, the Boundless Goddess, sought to encompass and consume the entire universe, so she created the innumerable kinds of monsters we know, to fill he world with their formlessness and chaos. Surely when left unchecked their power to multiple is Boundless. But without the traits of the other two she continually burns out in her efforts, and can never succeed completely in consuming everything. Of course if you are eaten by a Coeurl, that will be small comfort to your families, so pay attention to your saber drills, hmm?

"Finally, Fiend, the Perfect Goddess, sought to embody every possible experience. She tried to give it to the espers, but they were too rigid, and could not contain the myriad truths and experiences of the Crystal. She tried to apply it to monsters, but they had no way of preserving knowledge. As soon as a monster died, its truth would be sent back to fiend, and her work was never complete. Thus, Fiend was forced to create humankind. Because not all experiences and knowledge are good and just, our kind is forever cursed to live contradictory lives, fighting each other, dying without attaining enlightenment. Catch us on a bad day, and we are all Fiends. Die under a curse and we might become Fiends forever. But, we are also Perfect, for unlike the monsters we can pass on our knowledge to the next generation, and unlike the espers we can know all truths, even though we would be better off in many ways if we did not. And well, here I am, passing on some of that knowledge to you. It's as if the Crystal is still before us, no?"

Bertrand closed his eyes, and attuned his senses to the Esper inside of him. As always since the day of that experiment, Fenrir - the King of Wolves - was muzzled and bound to a leafless pine tree, bleeding from a would on his back that would never close. With a quick thought, Bertrand caused the muzzle to break and fly loose. Fenrir let out a primal cry that only the two of them could hear, and the howl turned into moonbeams.

Gathering up the moonlight, Bertrand conjured up another, larger image of the Crystal. It shed a soft, beautiful glow from the center of the theater all the way to the back of the class, and seemed to fill the room with an uncanny resonant tone, beautiful, clear, and captivating.

Right away and as always after bending Fenrir's will to his own, Bertrand felt the pangs of hunger - one of the many sensations he could no longer feel at all, _except_ through the bond. It was unexpectedly intense this time, and if the class had not been transfixed on the image of the Crystal, they might have seen him miss a step or two.

He let the illusion dissipate. For a moment his eyes settled on a well-formed young man, probably of military background, in the middle of the class. He could feel Fenrir's mouth water, but he forced himself to look away. This was not a good time to think about aesthetic indulgences. With a quick thought, he muzzled his esper again, and shoved that Eternal hunger aside and resumed his lecture.

"As you can see, this magic is not from the Mysidian temple. This is the power of an esper. It is not a power to take lightly. In this class I expect that you will learn the place of human, esper, and monster in the universe. The knowledge will serve you well as you prepare...." 

The lecture went on for a while. 

\-----

After class, Bertrand stayed around a little bit. He was not fond of standing by the door and bidding each student farewell, but he did like to make himself available. This time, though, he was still feeling a little off due to performing his little trick, and considered not staying for a moment before ultimately deciding to stick it out, mostly out of the obligation of habit.

He was just about to excuse himself when he heard something he had been waiting to hear for three decades.

"Mr. Olivar! That was amazing! I have to ask, and I'm probably wrong since I've seen his resting tomb - was that the Genju Cuchulainn?"


	2. A Bunch of Dead Names and Old Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertrand remembers his past and learns something new, and far away Maduin awaits the time of his return to the world.

Cuchulainn. The hound of the first Espertouched king. The Betrayer. Now that was a name that Bertrand thought he would never hear spoken again. Time seemed to freeze as Bertrand’s mind raced to regather long-buried thoughts.

It was at the age of nineteen, right after his Confirmation that he had heard it the first time. Of course back then, he had still exemplified the teachings and virtues of the temple. He had shown particular strengths with curse-breaking and shielding magic, and was eager to prove his skills - and the veracity of his devotion - to the elders.

Great Sage Graniff, that dear old man, must have seen that burning need to belong. Bertrand had been a half-starved boy of ten, flailing through the deadly chill of the forests of Narshe, when through some miracle Graniff happened upon him and plucked him free of that endless winter of deprivation and spiritual annihilation. Bertrand would never forget that outstretched hand, wrinkled, knotted, yet delicate somehow, or that morsel of bread - the first he had seen in over a year! At the time Bertrand had been more wolf than boy, and repaid that kindness with only snarls and bite marks.

Graniff accepted those bite marks without complaint, and with a kind and enduring smile won the trust of that wild little boy that day. The boy followed that smile back to civilization, and grew tall in its light. It had been his beacon as he had learned precepts of the Temple, and his inspiration throughout his spiritual education. Graniff was a tranquil reed in a raging river - quiet and soft, but never bending, and always surrounded by a small pool of calm that others could take refuge in.

Eventually the boy became a young man, and under Graniff's guidance became an adept and zealous scholar of Mysidia. Bertrand clove to its sacred teachings with an intensity only possible for someone eager to reject something unpleasant in the secular world.

Finally the day came when Bertrand first donned the Mantle of Confirmation and took the Healer's Oath. Graniff's smile lit up the entire assembly hall. Bertrand swore on that day that he would repay the kindness somehow.

So, when two years hence a group of explorers had discovered an ancient and unknown Esper Dungeon near Tzen, and Graniff was chosen to lead the Pilgrimage to greet the Esper, that young man knew what he had to do. Bertrand had at first asked, then argued, and finally begged to be taken along. It was not entirely due to his own merits that he was finally accepted - Graniff had surely intervened to allow it.

He was by far the youngest of a group of 6 black and white mages that set sail from South Figaro to the wild lands of Vector. Great Sage Graniff led the Figaro Pilgrimage, and a group of holy archers and knights brought the group size to an auspicious number of nineteen. Their ranks swelled to a total of 57 once they met with the Pilgrims from Mobliz and the Mission from Vector. The disapproving looks he got from many of his fellow Pilgrims was unforgettable, but Bertrand just _knew_ that he was good enough to be there with the rest of them. He was determined to prove it.

He had been proven right in the worst possible way. Out of fifty seven skilled servants of Mysidia, only eight women and men came alive out of that accursed place, and 5 of them were never able to speak again. Bertrand was one of only three that had survived with an intact mind. The second was Elena, a bright-eyed black mage with a thick accent of the Vector Backwoods. She had been pregnant during the Pilgrimage, he had later learned. Had she been spared because Cuchulainn had some small shred of compassion or sanity, or was it her skill with lightning magic? Or was it just dumb luck?

The last survivor was dear Graniff himself, although he did not escape that cursed Esper’s bite unscathed. His legs never recovered from the wound - he was hobbled until his last day. Worse still was the spiritual scar caused by the loss of so many good stewards of the faith. The sparkling kindness about the old man’s face never quite returned. His hands were still beautiful, but they stayed folded in his lap, clenched and bloodless - in prayer, in sleep, and finally in death.

And of course, inside Bertrand had found the dagger. It had kept the three of them alive, surely. It was also with that dagger that he had made the Mistake.

Ever since then, how Bertrand had hoped of hearing the name Cuchulainn again! After he quit the Temple, he dabbled in trade and adventuring so that he was always was free to roam about and return to Tzen. But the Dungeon was never accessible again, and any seeming clues about opening it back up would always quickly ran dry. For two decades, Bertrand wore his life short in sleeplessness and overwork, and never once felt close to finding a way back in, much less a way of undoing the Mistake. Academia had been his last path forward, and after nine more years he had given up hope, though never anticipation or anxiety over the matter.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. He had lost himself in thought again. An old prayer helped to return him mostly to the present, to the theater, to the new students who were filtering out of the classroom, and to the young woman in front of him. But a motion above caught his eye. 

A sandbird had just lighted upon the outside of one of the numerous stained glass windows that adorned the lecture theater. The already-creased soil of his forehead broke into tight furrows, and the corners of his mouth crept upward into a salivating rictus. His mouth parted slightly to make way for his escaping breath, wet and hot. The man fixed his gaze upward, to avoid meeting the gaze of his students. He realized that the old wolf inside him had also been awakened by hearing the name Cuchulainn.

The bird’s inscrutable gaze met with Bertrand’s devouring glare for just a moment. The creature was small and young, less than 3 months out of his nest, probably. A beautiful specimen. Luca would have loved to see it. The man knew everything there was to know about birds. A true delight and treasure, that man.

Guttural vibrations began to seize his throat, but Bertrand stifled them into a quick cough, and wiped his heart and expression clean with a practiced and quick prayer. He turned to face the student who had been standing before him for several seconds now. She was as young as the bird. A commoner from the southern reaches of Figaro kingdom, from her look and dress. She had been seated next to Ms. Leffield. Out of the corner of his eye, Bertrand saw the sandbird take flight.

He smiled at the young woman. She had a serious and nervous look about her face. Had she seen his awful expression a moment ago? “You must be Lucy… Bailor, was it?”

“Yes! You said you couldn’t be asked to remember our names, but you sure seem to know them already!” Bertrand was pleased to see surprise take over her face. No, she had not seen him. She was the kind of young person who, with a blossoming but delicate confidence borne of excellence at study, very much wanted to be right when talking to a professor. What a curious trait for a young commoner to have, though it certainly explained the look she had been giving him.

Bertrand noted that there was something of a disconnect between her manners of speaking and dress. Here was a fun mystery. His smile was warm and self-effacing. “Well, Ms. Bailor, I did just take roll today. You’ll have to remind me again tomorrow, probably. Now what was that odd name you just told me?”

“Cuchulainn! …. but it looks like I was wrong! I.. er…” She stammered and lost her excitement as she realized she must have made an error. Her face pinched into a mix of slight embarrassment and surprise.

On a second look, Bertrand could see that her features were quite youthful. Her makeup had been applied quite expertly to hide it, though. Most commoners took until their eighteenth year - or longer - to make it into the Opera House, even after all the current king’s reforms. This young woman - some might still call her a girl, couldn’t be older than fifteen.

Well, no matter her age or background, it wasn’t any of his concern. “Keen of you to notice I was manifesting my esper, Ms. Bailor! Its name is Fenrir. Fenrir the Moon-Swallower, the Silver Hunter, the Bare-Branch Dirge. I don’t take offense at all, but as a kind warning, please note that some of the _other_ people who work here might.”

She smiled, clearly relieved. “An understandable relic of the prior era. But Figaro is a kingdom of new promise, where neither the Espertouched nor the nobility are held above the common folk.” She smiled boldly as she quoted the new motto of the land. “At least, I hope that’s true here.” What a curious young woman! Bertrand was beginning to like her.

“Ha, well, many of us think that way. I can speak for myself and for Professor Rossi. As for the rest, you should ask your seniors which other professors also feel that way, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to watch that bold tongue of yours around the codgers that don’t.” He paused for a moment. “Cuchulainn. I must admit I’m always surprised when I hear a fresh name like that, even though by all accounts there are as many Genju as stars in the sky. You’ll have to tell me about him sometime, Ms. Bailor. Well, thank you for coming…” he trailed off purposefully, as if to dismiss her and greet the next student. He didn't want to startle her off by being too eager.

She completely ignored the cue. Perhaps a commoner after all. “Oh, I don’t know much about him. Just that he is a hound of some kind, wrapped in fetters.” Her voice fell to an excited, high-pitched, and still thoroughly audible whisper, and she leaned in close. “When you shaped the moonbeams into that beautiful crystal, I saw that yours looked the same...”

Her voice trailed off. She must have noticed the shock on Bertrand’s face. He hadn’t recognized any espertouched in the room. And for her to be able to discern the true shape of his esper from a simple manifestation like that … “I’m sorry professor, I didn’t mean to pry, I’m like you, sort of. My esper is Amano the Artist, the Sinuous Color, the Wetnurse of Dreams. I can barely manifest him, but, well...”

“Amano, the Stroke of Creation, the Lidless Eye.” He felt a sincere smile cross his face, then leaned in close to return the whisper. “Kind of you to let me know quietly. Thank you for not lording your status over your peers. But we’re attracting a great deal of attention nonetheless. People will think that you’re trying a little too hard to make an impression.” He glanced toward the waiting line of students behind her. Her cheeks suddenly reddened, and she swallowed hard before quickly composing herself.

“Well, good day then, Professor Olivar! I’ll see if I can learn more about Cuchulainn from the Tzen Heraldric Archives, as you suggested. Thank you so much for the tip!” With that she was gone, before she could even see the stupefied look on his face.

\-----

Bertrand greeted the rest of the students halfheartedly. That child - no, it wasn’t fair to think of her that way - had seen right through him - and decided on some whim to help him! Most likely this was another dead end. But it had been years since he’d even had that much. _If I go looking, she will know. If I investigate this, then a damned child will have more power over me than any of the softguts that walk these halls have had in years. But I can’t believe she is an enemy._

Fenrir spoke to him quietly as the last student left the theater. _And what if she is?_ _She seems a sharper hunter than that toad-faced rotblood you call Maestro. Maybe sharper than you! You could be walking into a trap._ Fenrir’s uncanny smile was visible through his muzzle. _If you die, I’ll eat you on the spot, you know._

Bertrand replied aloud, as he often did when he was sure the two were alone. “Yes, I’m sure you will. But you know as well as I that if we can find Phoenix we can make amends. Really, it’s amazing how much you complain. We’re both miserable, but I’ve spent most of my life like this. For you this is a forgettable blink in your infinitely long existence. You don’t see me complaining, so why should you? Chin up, old boy!”

Fenrir raged and thrashed in response, but Bertrand continued. “I know you’re hungry, but you know how it goes. It looks like you won’t have to wait too much longer anyway. As soon as Luca gets back, you and I are going to take a little sabbatical of our own, to Tzen. You can get have your fill then.”

\-----

The young sandbird was tired from a full morning’s flight, but his youngest sister had been right: the trip was worth it! That shining human building, made of sand as hard as wood, gleamed in the desert sun like nothing he had ever seen! What his sister had not told him, because she was too small yet to fly that high, was of those little magnificent rainbows embedded in the upper reaches. How beautiful they had been! In another week, once she found her full wings, he would take her back to show her. Still, how curious the humans were, to place such beautiful things where they could scarcely see them.

Just then, the bird’s dreamy thoughts were disturbed by a sudden and unexpected gust of wind coming from the east. The faintest hint of grass pollen from the distant plains rode that wind. The creature took in a deep breath, delighted at the new smell - a brief sensation that hinted at the world’s vastness.

For, though the sandbird could never truly understand it, beyond those plains of grass existed a great sea, and beyond that sea were other lands of all kinds, each full of its own birds, and peculiar humans, and other creatures that the sandbird would never meet. In one of those lands, a place the humans called Tzen, an ancient and undying king of men slept under the watchful eyes of his loyal hound, unaware that he was fated to encounter Bertrand again. And in a still more distant land, the esper known as Maduin, the Father of the Espertouched, the Keeper of Mysidia, the Threefold Force, lay resting in his own sepulcher.

\-----

For quite some time, even by esper standards, Maduin had laid dormant in that quiet place. He took the shape of magicite, that shining ensouled fragment of Crystal that protects each Genju’s essence in the long eons of what humans called their “death”. But even in this long rest, he had much to think on, much to plan, and every week allies would bring news from the outside world. With all this, Maduin often felt quite busy, that is, for an entity that had spent the last few centuries sitting on a shelf in am empty and unremarkable room.

But today, Maduin’s mind wandered. The time was coming soon for him to take a living form yet again - soon he would walk out into that bright sky of the human world. Eventually, he would return to the Realm of his people - there was much for him to do there too! But in recent years, Maduin found himself thinking more of the human world. And on days like this, bright mornings in late spring, when young birds were first taking flight, he found his thoughts returning to when he had met a most peculiar and remarkable human - Madeline.

Madeline, who of course had long since died, as she must. He would think of her, and of their strange and blissful joining, and then of Yura and that joining, just as strange and deep. And of course he always thought of Terra. She, too, was now long dead, though while she lived the humans that loved her thought her ageless in comparison.

Of course it was only natural for him to outlive his daughter. But despite what that amazing being had accomplished in her life, Maduin always felt a pang of regret that her journey had been so difficult. Perhaps, this time, if the world was ready, he would try to meet another human with an open heart. A man this time? His duties - his very nature - had to come first, but it didn’t hurt to spend a little time “daydreaming”, as Madeline had called it.

His pondering was interrupted by the sound of human footsteps. He allowed his senses to fill the room, and was shocked to hear the sounds of metal on stone. These were not the Mysidians, nor the descendants of Thamasa! As a precaution, Maduin surrounded himself with elemental energies of all kinds. It was a trifle compared to what he was capable of, but there was no sense actually risking harm to a few overly curious explorers. If they found him, he would just have to knock them out and then inform the Great Sage that….

“Good morning Maduin!” The voice stopped him short. Yura. Ten foot soldiers, dressed in plain unmarked banded metal armor, rounded the corner in perfect unison. Yura was right behind them … fully embodied! How had he come out of his rest so soon? “Well, don’t be shy, it’s been far too long!”

“Yura, the Keeper of Laws, the Scribe of the Se-”

“Yes, that’s me, though I know you don’t care for all the titles, so we’ll skip all of that. Now, I’ll be blunt, Maduin. Were you hiding from me? From us? I know that you’re overly concerned with the Children of the Second and all their birth and dying and whatever else they do. But do you really have to ignore your own kind and play dead as if you were one of them? The council has been missing you. I’ve been missing you!”

The malice coming off of Yura was palpable. So, he had not forgiven him. It was not surprising, Maduin supposed. “Yura, it’s been too long since our bond, you know I can no longer tell what you’re thinking. So if you have something important to say, go ahead and say it. If not, I must ask you to leave. The Mysidians will be here soon, and they won’t be expecting you, so in order to avoid a conflict - ”

“Oh, that conflict has already happened, actually. Though you’re right, they weren’t expecting it! And I suppose you weren’t expecting to see this again!” With that, Yura, pulled a small dagger out of the belt sheaths of one of the soldiers. The blade was an awful, familiar shade - like iron to the sight, but dark beyond words to the other senses of the Genju.

Maduin was gripped by a terrible sense of balance unraveling. “Yura. You shouldn’t be holding that, you know what it can do to you.”

“It’s not for me, friend.”

Young finches could be heard outside the sepulcher. Odd to hear them this close. The tree must have grown its branches closer to the entrance this year. Maybe next year, the Mysidians would trim it back again.

The conflict was over before the soldiers could raise a hand. Maduin’s magicite glowed brilliantly, and waves of searing flames, clouds of algid daggers, and coruscating sparks assailed Yura head on. Many found their mark, but Yura was too close, and in a second that dreaded dagger had been plunged straight into Maduin’s core.

Maduin struggled to make his Crystalline structure vibrate enough to speak aloud, and when that failed, he desperately broadcast his thoughts, but Yura paid no heed. He kept on driving the dagger inward, until the glow in Maduin’s magicite faded to a soft luster, then dulled and darkened

After a small moment of silence, one of the soldiers spoke. "It's over?"

Yura turned towards the group. “Men, show some respect to my friend. He just saved your lives. He might have beat me if he attacked from all sides from the start, and he certainly could have if you hadn’t been in the way.”

Another man stammered. “Lord Yura ... we were told by the king that you were sent here to protect us... but are you saying you brought us along as a human shield?”

Yura smiled at the man and slowly approached him, never averting his gaze until the scant distance between them was thoroughly uncomfortable. “Yes, I suppose he would, if Maduin hadn’t killed you all today. Figaro thanks you for your service, brave soldiers! Your sacrifice was not in vain!”

\-----

The sounds from inside were like nothing the mother finch had heard before. Soon after came the smell, and then the grey sparkling smoke. It was sickening, but she could not leave her hatchlings. She tucked her head under her wing and prayed.


	3. Not a Circle, but a Spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gravely, perhaps fatally injured by Yura, Maduin slips into long-forgotten memories. Is there something within his past that can save him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features several paragraphs of specific description of medical torture and mutilation. There is no explicit sexual content in this chapter.

The rays of the sunlight were coming in now at a low angle. The dust kicked up by the quick struggle danced slowly in that low warm light, each mote full of a lively and unconcerned grace. Maduin, exhausted of any other option, found himself focusing the remaining sliver of his senses on that delicate play of light.

Despite it all, he lingered. Was even that dreaded dagger incapable of fully killing his kind after all? Or had Yura left him alive on purpose? Surely not through carelessness. Yura had never been careless.

Nor was the violence inflicted on the humans in that room careless. Yura’s final words before leaving hung heavy in the air.

_I know how much human frailty fascinates you, my friend. Consider this work my final gift to you!_

Gift indeed. Maduin was wracked with pain unlike anything he had ever experienced. He did not know if an esper could truly die, but if anything could kill him, surely this cursed wound would.

Despite the pain that dominated all of his senses, and his best efforts to focus his attention elsewhere, he was still an esper possessed of uncanny awareness. He could not close his eyes or turn away to block out the sight, as a human might have. And so, though it sickened him, he had no choice but to accept Yura’s gift that lay before him.

All of the men were still alive, though some only just. The man closest to him was clearly the leader of the bunch, by the look of his armor and noble bearing. He had been knocked unconscious with a swift blow to the gut, then spread out on his back and posed in a mockery of a famous anatomical illustration. Narrow but deep cuts at each of his wrists and ankles leaked out symmetrical pools of blood that spread across the floor at an alarming pace. He would be the first to die. 

The next man’s legs and arms had been broken and then tied behind his back to his spear, so that he could only move in short, pained spasms that were half crawl and half roll. He was in a panic, alternating between desperate attempts to staunch the first man’s bleeding and a futile and excruciating struggle to free himself. A needle the length of a knuckle was embedded in the small exposed area of his flesh between his helmet and pauldrons. The man didn’t notice it; he must not be able to feel it through the patch of necrotic tissue surrounding it. Every time he moved, the poison spread slightly - mostly outward through the skin. But it would not be long before it entered a vein and traveled to his heart.

To the left, there was a tall spindle of a man who was burnt from head to toe. His skin had fused to his armor; one would not come off without the other. He had already made that mistake once, then in a small miracle had passed out from the pain. To the right, a tanned man sat with a swaddled bundle in his arms. “This came from inside me.” He rocked back and forth rhythmically, and repeated the phrase in time. There were several bores in his armor where Yura had punched right through the metal. Each hole in the plate mail revealed a wound in his stomach or chest which had been subsequently healed, leaving sunken flesh sagging over empty space. “This came from inside me.” Someone who had just entered the room would have briefly mistaken the man for a father cradling a newborn.

Throughout the room, the rest of the men groaned or sobbed, each wracked with his own distinct agony. Maduin had never felt so helpless.

The furthest two seemed to be in no immediate danger, although they were unconscious. They were facing each other in the doorway, with their lower backs resting against opposite ends of the door frame. Each was leaning towards the other so that their brows touched in the center of the doorway, and they were propping each other up with intertwined hands held between them. Their mouths hung slack, as if paused in mid-prayer.

They appeared unharmed, but Maduin had witnessed how Yura had positioned their bodies like that, severed the flesh from each of their palms, and then placed their hands together before healing them, so that the flesh of their hands fused together. They would never separate those clasped hands and entwined fingers again. The injuries and subsequent healing had been made so deftly that they were not bleeding, even internally - the heartbeat of one drove the blood of the other.

But Maduin could sense a terrible imbalance brewing in their bodies - humans all had slight differences in their internal working, and something in those differences would make this grisly pairing deadly to the both of them. Even if the pair were severed and healed again now, the living alchemy that normally sustained each man would soon throw the other’s body into chaos and inflammation. Once those fires were lit, only white magic far beyond Maduin’s ken could stop it. They would last a few days, perhaps.

And of course, these soldiers themselves had recently waylaid and dispatched the only other humans nearby who could have possibly saved them.

He wanted terribly to save them, to use the last of his strength and magic to heal as many of them as he could. But his magicite was ruined. 

_Humans are not compatible with our kind, Maduin. They are not even compatible with each other. Their wars are inevitable, and they shall become our wars time and again, as long as we involve ourselves with them. You already know that, and you’re keeping that human here anyway! The Elder should stop you, but since he won’t, I will yield to his will. But my body aches and my heart burns with the foolishness of it. We will_ all _regret this, Maduin._

Maduin remembered those words that Yura had spoken to him so long ago, when he had first met Madeline. And at every point in his existence since then, he had defied Yura’s will, defied the laws of his kind over and over again. Taking Madeline into the sacred realm of the genju, bringing Terra into the world, and founding the espertouched kingdoms - each of those actions had caused untold pain to human and esper alike.

Despite this, he could not regret his actions. They had brought much good, too. He prayed that the good would continue to outshine the harm, and that one day Yura would see it.

The light within his magicite was gone, and his crystal was losing cohesion, becoming more like a jelly. _It’s a pseudosolid!_ The words of one of the humans his long-dead daughter’s befriended reverberated within him.

With that last thought, Maduin, the father of the espertouched, was gone. All that was left were his memories stored in cold crystal.

But there is a shade of truth in every memory, and each esper is naught but an eternal truth given form by the third Goddess. Even if all traces of a truth are wiped off the earth, one day that truth will emerge again in a new form. 

\-----

For a long time, Maduin felt nothing, except a very vague sense that time was continuing to pass. It could have been hours, or years, or longer. Eventually, a fleeting spark of magic, a random tic of the universe, animated a stray memory.

That spark took him back to the _last_ time he had been in the form of magicite, so long ago. Back then he had been surrounded by a glass tube that was filled from top to bottom with a viscous and pale blue liquid. The tube was one of twelve, all lined up on one side of a small room. Pain from his present and catastrophic damage blurred into the memory of an older and milder pain.

Each tube around him held its own magicite, most of which were severely damaged, just like him. He instinctively reached out, but couldn’t feel the consciousness of any of his kind here - only a single human. How the others must be hurting! Dread and despair overtook him, but then he remembered. _This is a horrible memory. But it is just a memory. We were all like this, after the Goddess Statues were destroyed. We have overcome seeming annihilation many times. I can survive again._ Was some part of his mind showing himself this scene, to remind him of his own resilience?

The room was dimmer than most humans preferred, although the soft blue glow emanating from each tube and the electric yellow glare of a central monitor provided enough light for its lone occupant to move about. Yes, this was one of Terra’s old friends - the desert king. There was no further danger here.

The man raced wordlessly from machine to machine. At each one he paused for a moment to read the gauges and dials. Sometimes he would spare a glance back at the central screen before manipulating some dial or lever, only to race on to the next without waiting to see what his machinations had accomplished. Now and then he would stop for a few moments and just stare into one of tubes, scrutinizing the crystal within.

Humans always seemed to stare at the shining core of magicite as if meeting the gaze of another of their kind. They liked to look at each other’s eyes. Madeline had always stared right into _his_ eyes.

The man had made several complete circuits of this work when on the opposite side of the room came a loud pneumatic rasp accompanied by a sudden intrusion of bright light. A dark form with a proud posture stepped into that light, then waited for the gap to finish opening before ducking inside. In the darkness it became clear that the form belonged to a woman. She rapped her knuckles on the inside of the steam-powered door several times, but the man - Edgar was his name! - failed to recognize her presence. She cleared her throat loudly, then a few seconds later finally spoke when that failed to get his attention as well. “Hello, Edgar. Am I intruding?” Maduin recognized her voice before her features. 

Edgar responded instantly, though he spared his visitor only a quick glance before returning to work as he spoke. “Lady Celes, do come in! Good to see you again dear! Still spending your time with that mangy cutpurse? I suppose the heart wants what it wants, but you know I can’t marry you if you won’t keep me company at least some of the time. I don’t mind sharing your attention but we must be keeping up appearances if you are to be my queen.”

Celes ignored the man’s habitual advances completely. “Yes, Locke is doing well, thanks for asking. He sends his kind thanks. That frightening fever had him out of his senses for three weeks, but the medicine you sent helped greatly. He’s back on his feet, now, although he tires easily. He wanted to thank you in person, but I told him he was already pushing himself too much. I told him a visit to Figaro could wait until he’s in traveling condition. We’ll come back together in a month or two.”

“The cad, making a Lady into his errand girl. I’ll have to remodel this damn castle to burrow through solid rock just so I can show up at your doorstep. He won’t be able to avoid me, then, and I’ll slap some chivalry into him! Though I suppose I should thank him for this opportunity to have you in my private chamber alone. Close the door, would you darling? The daylight is killing the mood.”

Celes pressed a button and the door behind her hissed shut. She looked about the laboratory as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was barely room enough for one person to move about and certainly nowhere to sit, so she soon found herself awkwardly following Edgar’s path through the room. “We’ve been quite busy helping with the reconstruction project at Narshe. I see you’ve been keeping busy too.” The king had barely looked at her, so without anything to focus on, her eyes moved uncomfortably about the room. Even as her brow tensed, her voice remained as cool and firm as ever. 

For the first time since Celes arrived, Edgar turned to face her. His face and voice were now full of more energy than was evident in all of his prior flirting combined. He clasped her hands in his own and shook them as he spoke. “Yes! I’ve discovered something wonderful! Mademoiselle Chere, my dear, your brave uncle Cid’s notes were right about the true immortality of the espers! Look.” He led her by the hand towards the tube to Maduin’s right as he continued his fervent speech. 

“As we have seen, magicite that has been completely drained of essence becomes a pseudosolid! No defined shape, no crystalline structure, no alchemical reactions, no etheric potential. But even if it’s broken into pieces, if you apply a polarized runic field inside the correct mixture of ether and metal/carbon gel..”

“Ether?? How much ether did you use to set this up?”

“A little less than a hundred. I told my dear brother to bring me as much as he could carry and he took me literally.”

“One hundred ethers, Edgar? This is how you’re spending the new tea tariffs?”

“No. No! This is from my own coffers! I still had a bit left over from that wonderful time you and I spent together dashing through the hazy sky, putting the pieces of a ruined world back together!”

“There were other people there. Don’t make it sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a date.”

“Yes, I would, but right now that’s not important, Celes! Focus on the present, our destined rendezvous can wait. Look, if you run a runic current through this expensive mixture that only a charming king could afford, something wonderful happens! Watch!” With this, Edgar made some adjustments to a nearby machine, and one by one, lightning began to course through each tube in the room, eventually including Maduin’s.

Maduin’s awareness was suddenly engulfed by a singular and overwhelming feeling of what could only be called unity. His memories and senses were all still there, distinct and complete, but they were like leaves on a river of experience. He was connected through some higher order of existence - to the humans here, and through them to the people their lives had touched, and also to their dead ancestors and future descendants. He _was_ those people, as much as he was himself.

He was also the glass in the tube, and the sand in the desert which the glass had been, and the wine bottle that would be made from that glass one day, and the kiss that wine bottle had encouraged, and the child that would one day be born because of that kiss, and then again, the same wine bottle, sitting above the mantle in the home of that child, now aged and sitting close to the fire to shield herself from a harsh winter. He was the smoke from that fireplace in the grey winter sky, and from there, a million more things. The connections went on without end, meandering and leaping and spiraling, sometimes out into another infinity, sometimes inward into dead-end eddys. It was all happening at once, here, and forever, and everywhere.

And he was also the other genju in the room. Yura was there! He could feel Yura’s wound as his own, and also the inevitable bliss of their union, and of their battles to come.

And he was his future self as well, torn into pieces and surrounded by murdered men. And further in the future, he was whole again, and back in his living body! And he was Madeline and Terra, he was Bahamut, he was the Goddesses! He was everything!

  
The visions were infinite and uncontrollable, frightening and wonderful, and then they stopped. That torrent of otherness receded as quickly as it had overtaken him. Not even a memory remained, for how could anyone remember _everything_? Only a grave sense of loss remained to replace that timeless moment.

Maduin was simply himself again. At first he could only sense himself and his immediate surroundings. He was resting in the bottom of the tube, which was now otherwise empty. Not a single remnant of the fluid remained, not even as vapor in the air. His pain had also lessened, and his senses began to return, sharper than before. He turned his awareness inward.

He was substantially more whole now. His magicite was cracked and his glow still dim, but the pieces of himself that had separated were now sticking together, and his core held a faint but persistent afterglow of a freshly extinguished ember.

He could hear voices too. He strained himself trying to move, to give off a little light, to make it known that he could hear his daughter’s friends, but he found himself unable to move. Magic then! He tried to summon each of the three forces that bound him together, but all he could manage were a few snowflakes that melted instantly when they came in contact with the glass of the tub, still hot from the reaction that had emptied them of that blue liquid. 

His sight returned in time to see Edgar lifting a large lever near the center of the room. All of the tubes began to slowly lift into the ceiling. Each of them had been partially repaired, just like him! 

Edgar was talking. “….we already know that intact magicite can one day reform into its esper, but it appears that with this process we can heal even those epsers that were presumed lost to extreme damage.”

Celes swallowed hard. “...even the one that was drained to infuse me?”

“Yes! Although I believe that this is really just an accelerated version of a natural ....”

The sounds of conversation drifted away as Maduin’s tube fully retracted into the ceiling. Maduin was alone in the dark with his thoughts. The sense of loss after experiencing that profound unity was duller now, but it was still definitely there. He could tell that it was futile to try to recall it, for a long time, he simply rested.

Eventually, Maduin’s senses sharpened enough that he felt a deeper pain. 

_I was resting in my sepulcher. Yura. Oh Goddesses, those poor humans. That wound!_

Resignation set in as he realized that this was only a memory, and then that he was probably dying - an unthinkable proposition for one of his kind. 

Had his mind tried to protect him from the pain of the last moments of his existence by showing him a vision of healing? And that strange sense of unity! That was _not_ something he had previously remembered from his time in Edgar’s laboratory. Perhaps it was just a failure of his mind, a byproduct of his injury. Perhaps it was a premonition. Was that endless light waiting for him once the last of his own strength faded?

“But by the Goddesses, how could I forget something like _that_!”

\-----

“By the Goddesses, Maduin, how could you forget it!?” Maduin turned around to meet the furious gaze of a human woman. He was in his body! His living body! Had he been healed somehow? The woman saw the confused look on his face, and her anger briefly softened. It was her!

“Madeline! You …. This is another memory”. He took his head into his hands, expecting it to hurt. When it didn’t, he ran his fingers backwards over his scalp, and smoothed his thick cobalt mane down against the layered muscles of his neck and shoulders. This was _definitely_ his own body. And that was his own voice that he had just heard - he had spoken his confused thoughts out loud. 

Madeline’s face ignited once more. “You’re damn right it’s a memory, and an important one too! It’s _today_ ! I swear, last year I had _thought_ we were having this conversation for the final time! But here we are again! You’re lucky that she’s too young to remember this. What am I going to do with you if you keep on like this!”

Despite her scolding, Maduin was overcome with joy. He knew this must be another memory, but he couldn’t help but get swept up in it. Madeline was here, and she needed him for something. She rarely got angry - what could be wrong!?

“Frost and thunder, Madeline, it is good to see you again. Rest your soul and body in my arms, for I am your lover, Maduin, the Threefold Force, the Balanced Storm, the -”

“Maduin, the threefold forgetter of Terra’s birthday! And tonight, you are the Banished Stooge. You can sleep on the floor!”

“I don’t really need to sleep, but I -” He stopped himself - he wasn’t helping by talking now. She was hurt.

“You promised me that you would remember this time. I reminded you just two days ago. I’ve been busy inviting everyone and getting the food ready. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t finish your part of the plans?”

Maduin rushed to take Madeline in his arms. Despite her anger, she embraced him back, though her eyes still glared up at him with an intensity. She was beautiful, as only a creature that could die could be beautiful. They had known each other only for a short portion of her life, but already she was so _different_ than when they first met. Being with her was a neverending thrill - she was an infinite blossom that unfolded into everchanging perfection each time she awoke.

But he was concerned now - rarely was she so upset! And wrong! True, he had completely missed Terra’s first birthday, but it was simply because he had no idea what a birthday was! Madeline had forgiven him easily then - each of them had long since gotten used to blundering into the many unwritten assumptions of the other’s existence.

And he HAD planned for her second birthday But human calendars added an extra day every four years. How was he supposed to guess that?? This year, though, he had prepared thoroughly. He failed to see the purpose in a ceremony for a young creature that couldn’t even remember the event, but it was important to Madeline, so he made absolutely sure to get it right.

“No, my glimmer - I haven’t forgotten! In fact, I have something amazing planned! Come with me!” What had given her the idea he had forgotten, anyway? No matter, it was best to make it up to her by showing her.

Maduin took the hand of his lover and felt her heartbeat quicken through her hand. Together they raced where Maduin led. As they had when they first met, Maduin pulled her close and took to the air. He dashed with her down over the moss-lit paths of the First Village of the Sealed Realm, then out of town down to the banks of the Evergloam River. The pair followed the riverbanks for a while, and were joined in flight by a pair of laughing Sylphs.

“Maduin! Hee hee! Madeline!

Madeline! Hee hee! Maduin!”

The pair spoke and laughed in unison. “We know where you’re going, hee hee! You’re going to go see Ama-”

Maduin whipped his mane around with just enough force to surprise the pair. They fell back a bit, still tittering. “Madeline would prefer to be surprised by it, Sylphs! I would _prefer_ if you kept it a surprise as well!”

The pair nodded sagely. “Hee hee! A surprise! Okay! I’ll go tell Amano to keep it secret too!”

Madeline blushed with excitement. “Amano??? What do you have planned, you clever thing? And why did you act like you didn’t remember before, that’s a mean trick to play on me”.

Maduin sighed deeply. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I didn’t mean to trick you though, I don’t remember trying to make you think I forgot! I’m sorry, we must have somehow miscommunicated again. We can talk about it later. We’re almost there. Terra’s already here! Amano took her while she was sleeping.” 

  
He smiled wide at her, mischievous fire glowing in his eyes. “You’re both going to love this.”

They sped on towards the Rainbow Divide, those sparkling cliffs that had just come into view. Atop those cliffs, his daughter slept, unaware that she was about to have the best birthday party a little human girl had ever experienced. He was so happy he almost felt like crying. Instead, he started laughing, so loudly and fully that he stopped paying attention to where he was going. Their path briefly dipped down, enough to brush against the rushing waters of the river. Maduin spun around just in time and clipped the waters with his back. Madeline let out a surprised whoop. What a delightful sound! Her long sleeves were still dry.

He shook himself dry as he rose, which released a fine spray of mist that vanished into the wind behind them. Madeline teased him. “A fish is going to fly into your mouth if you don’t close it, you lummox!” But she was laughing too. They laughed until their sides hurt. Maduin put out of his mind the distinct impression that the pain was for some other reason, and continued onward.


End file.
